


The Favored Few

by BabyStepsAreStillSteps



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bobby Singer is Dean and Sam Winchester's Parent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s06e16 And Then There Were None, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Episode: s06e16 And Then There Were None, Protective Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-28 21:48:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21399178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabyStepsAreStillSteps/pseuds/BabyStepsAreStillSteps
Summary: When Dean accidentally revealed that Bobby told him that he was Bobby's favorite, it wasn't a big deal. Really, it wasn't.It's not like Sam identified with Bobby more than any other hunter in the world except his brother.It's not like Bobby was one of the only people left on Earth that actually cared if he existed.It's not like they had bonded over their research skills and their mutual teasing of his big brother.It's not like he had lived with the man for two months when Dean was in that boys home.It's not like Bobby had known him since he was in diapers, and knew exactly how hard he tried to be what the people around him needed.It's not like the man had raised him just as much as his biological dad ever had, and it’s not like Sam valued and cherished Bobby's opinion.Considering all of these absolute truths, it was safe to say Dean's offhand comment didn't bother Sam at all,no really.
Relationships: Bobby Singer & Dean Winchester, Bobby Singer & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Bobby Singer & Sam Winchester, Bobby’s favoritism fix-it, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, episode fix-it - Relationship
Comments: 16
Kudos: 173
Collections: Sam Winchester WHUMP





	1. The Man With A Plan

"Earlobes," Dean muttered in disgust. "What the hell takes earlobes?"

Sam ran a tired hand down his face. "I don't know man," he said, flipping the last book in his stack shut.

Sam stood up, cracking his neck in the way he knew Dean hated. 

Dean scowled at him, but Sam merely smirked back, stretching his back out, bending one way, then the other.

“I say we ask Bobby,” Sam said when he was done stretching his back in increasingly ridiculous ways.

Those couldn't possibly work. Dean was sure Sam was trying to bait him into telling him that, and then Sam would launch into an hour and a half lecture about the boring muscles in the back and how best to stretch them. 

Well not today, little brother. Dean was too tired from reading five hundred thousand books that were distinctly not about earlobe stealing creatures to kick Sammy into teacher mode.

Dean ignored the moves that couldn't possibly be stretching and latched on to the statement.

"Yeah, I vote 'call Bobby' too. Let's pack up the weapons and then go get some grub." 

He walked over to the bed they had spread their weapons on after they had cleaned them that morning.

"A Tori Spelling marathon is on, so I should probably call him, since I'm his favorite," Dean said, turning to smirk at Sam over his shoulder before returning to the spread of weapons.

"What?" Sam asked, startled and a little hurt.

Dean didn't catch the change in tone, focused on packing the weapons strewn all over the bed back into their bag.

“Yeah, he told me on the truth spell case," Dean said casually. 

A second later, he realized what he had said.

"Oh," Dean spun around and pointed an authoritative finger at his brother. "Wait, don't try to remember that!'" Dean commanded.

Studying him for a moment, Dean eventually seemed satisfied that he wasn't ignoring the order and doing his best to remember, and turned back to the weapons.

“We were on a case for the Veritas goddess who cursed me to make everyone tell me the truth, and we ganked her, that's all you need to know. Don't scratch the wall!”

"And," Sam started, an oddly hesitant note in his voice, "Bobby told you that you were his favorite?”

Something in his tone caught Dean's attention and Dean spared him a glance.

"Uh, yeah, he told me some embarrassing stuff that you do _not_ want to know, and then he went,” Dean cleared his throat, doing a bad impression of Bobby's voice in an attempt to lighten the mood, “probably because you're my favorite, wait, why am I telling you this?"  


Sam's lips twitched up in an attempt of a smile, but his eyes betrayed his act. He looked down for a long moment.

"Oh." He said eventually, studying the stained carpet. "I guess I can see that.”

He stood up with a self deprecating huff. "Can't say I blame him.”

Dean opened his mouth, searching for a way to make this better, but Sam was already walking across the room, throwing the comment "I've just gotta hit the head before we go" over his shoulder as he went. And suddenly a door was between them.

Dean dropped onto the corner of the bed closest to the bathroom and stared at the door.  


He told himself he needed to get up and actually make the call to Bobby that started this whole mess, but he couldn't help noticing that the bathroom was silent. Too silent. Dean continued sitting on the bed, staring at the door.

If he hadn't been straining to hear, he would have missed it. A small sniff, followed by a near silent sob. 

That spurred him into action, and he was up and across the room, reaching for the doorknob in two strides.

He paused before he could make contact, hand hanging in the air as he considered. 

So he goes busting in, then what? Does he kneel down, look at his brother and tell him, "Hey Sammy, sorry I made you cry. Bobby still likes you, he just likes me better”?

Or maybe, "Hey Sammy, I know that almost all our friends are dead, and we're down to like four people who give a damn about us, but even if I'm his favorite, Bobby still likes you, promise."

Dean sighed, letting his hand fall to his side, cursing his big mouth. 

He stared at the door for another long moment, flinching when he heard another muffled sob. This is not how he had wanted this day to go.

The phrase ‘can't say I blame him’ rang through his head on repeat. He turned, and walked back to the weapons laying out on the bed, contemplating the problem as he packed the weapons on autopilot.

The problem was that a small, selfish, part of Dean liked being Bobby's favorite, and he didn't want to change that. He hadn't meant to say it out loud, he had planned on it being his little secret, something to keep him warm at night.

‘_But it did pop out,_' he thought with a sigh, ‘_and now my baby brother's crying in the bathroom._’

They'd been here too many times before. Dean cleaning and packing the room while his brother cried in the bathroom where he thought no one could hear him.

Dozens of memories of their childhood flashed through Dean's mind. Memories of Sam trying his hardest to keep up with his brother, and falling short, unable to compete with someone four years older than him.

Their dad would make a snide comment, and Sam would mutter "I just gotta hit the head before we go," before locking himself in the bathroom where Dean could hear his muffled cries.

Dean wasn't sure if his dad had heard them. He wasn't sure if his dad had cared.

Sam could do a disturbingly good job of covering up the fact that he'd been crying. He'd come out ten minutes later without red eyes or flushed cheeks, and they'd all go on as if nothing had happened.

Well, twenty minutes later if their dad praised Dean before ripping Sam's efforts to shreds.

Sighing for what seemed like the hundredth time, Dean zipped the bag shut, but left his hand on the zipper as he continued to stare at the weapons bag as if it could fix this.

‘_And that was the crux of it, wasn't it?_' Dean thought morosely. Another father had chosen Dean over Sam, only this time, Sam and Dean were equal. 

Dean wasn't chosen because he was older and actually capable of doing what was being asked of them. Dean wasn't the favorite because Sam was constantly having to play catch up.

No matter how smart or fit he was, a fourteen year old Sam just couldn't compete with an eighteen year old Dean. That was true when dad tore into him, but they were both adults when Bobby had made his proclamation. They were equal adults, and Bobby still liked Dean better.

'Can't say I blame him' echoed through Dean's head.

Suddenly it didn't make Dean feel warm or special to be the favorite, because what the hell, Bobby?

Dean had always thought Bobby didn't play favorites, that he and his brother were equally loved.

Dean's brow furrowed as he thought about that more. The equal favorites thing made sense to him, but if you were going to pick a favorite, how could you possibly look at Dean, and look at Sammy, and not choose Sammy?

Sammy with his floppy hair, and his big soulful puppy eyes. Sammy who looked at Dean like he hung the moon, and Bobby like he was the best dad in the world. Sammy who tried so hard in everything he ever did, and never expected to be praised for it. What the _hell_, Bobby?

The weapons were packed and the default ten minutes were almost up, so if Dean wanted to call Bobby before Sam came out, he'd have to do it now. 

Maybe he should also ask what made Bobby pick a favorite, because what the hell, Bobby? _Sammy_ was a choice, and - 

Dean cut off his train of thought with a shake of his head. He'd waste the remainder of his time if he let himself ponder that decision, and the phone call would be exponentially more awkward if Sam was sitting at the table reading his books again and making failed attempts not to show his feelings were hurt.

For someone so smart, sometimes his little brother was an idiot. As if _Dean_ wouldn't notice his brother was hurting. 

He'd always had a good radar for his little brother's pain, physical or emotional, but after working with the soulless douchebag's unemotional personality for months, Dean's radar had been honed to perfection, automatically noting the little twitches and body language cues that said so much more than Sam probably realized.

Dean shook his head and wondered, not for the first time, what on Earth went on in Sam's head. Didn't he know that he was the most important person in Dean's world? 

Anyway, Bobby. Dean needed to call Bobby, he reminded himself.

He cast a glance at the bathroom door, still nearly silent, and realized that taking a call in the bedroom before Sam came out would do no good considering how thin the bathroom door was.  


He grabbed his phone and motel key off the table and quietly slipped outside to make the call.

As the door clicked shut behind him, Dean punched in Bobby's number, looking around the parking lot as it rang.

Spring was on its way. The sun was warm, and the breeze was the perfect amount of cool... it would have been a beautiful day if his brother wasn't crying in the bathroom.

"Singer," Bobby answered gruffly, pulling Dean out of his thoughts of how unfair it was that this happened on a day with such nice weather.

"Hey Bobby, it's Dean. We've got a research question for you.”

"’Course you do,” Bobby said, and Dean just knew Bobby was rolling his eyes at him.

Something sizzled and popped on Bobby's end. He must be cooking. Bobby couldn't cook much, but what he could cook, he was damn good at. Dean was uncomfortably reminded of how hungry he had been before this whole mess. This day just got better and better. 

"We're in La Grande, Oregon,” Dean rattled off. “We have ten dead. The spleen, pancreas, and earlobes were missing from every victim."

"Earlobes?" Bobby asked. "You're sure?"

Dean rolled his eyes, not bothering to hide his exasperated sigh. "Yeah Bobby, I'm sure. There's been ten vics in the past two weeks, and none of them had earlobes when they were found."

Bobby ignored his attitude, moving on to the answer instead of making a futile effort to get Dean to behave. “Ok, well, that means it's a Scryalird, nasty son of a bitch. They eat the rest, but they use the earlobes to pad their nest, and let me tell you, it is ain’t pretty to stumble upon that little nursery."

Dean shuddered at the thought. Why were supernatural creatures so gross? Who pads a nursery with earlobes? He shuddered again.

"They're birds," Bobby continued. "Ugly birds. Talons the size of hedge trimmers, _**don’t**_ let them catch ya, because it ain’t pleasant. Since it's nesting, there'll be two around. Find the nearest woods to the attack sites, that's where they'll be."

Dean nodded, even though Bobby couldn't see him. "Does it take anything special to gank 'em?"

"Nothin’ special," Bobby said confidently, and Dean took a second to marvel at how much about hunting Bobby knew off the top of his head. "Regular old guns will do it, but the shot has to be through the eye. Either eye will do."

"Ok, got it," Dean said. "Anything else?"

"Yeah there's something else!" Bobby shot back, unexpectedly annoyed. "Now I know I told you that you could keep some tools at my place, but I didn't mean you could leave ‘em everywhere! You're cleaning up my garage next time you're here."

That was the perfect opening. "Aww shoot," Dean drawled jokingly, "did I lose my favorite status?"

"Oh don't flatter yourself, boy," Bobby scoffed. "You're just lucky you got hit with the truth spell while Sam was a soulless dick."

Dean paused for a moment, both surprised and ashamed of the hurt he felt at that.

He took a deep breath and made sure none of it came through his cheerful tone. 

"Aww, that didn't last long. I'll tell Sam he's once again the champion of that dubious honor.” 

Bobby paused. "Did you hit your head?” he asked finally, "Or have you always been this stupid? Sam's not my favorite.”

Dean blinked, knowing there was a point, but not quite understanding what Bobby was trying to tell him.

"So, what? You have a third kid running around?"

The word kid popped out before he could stop it, but it was too late to shove it back in now.

Dean clenched his eyes shut and hoped Bobby wouldn't comment on that little slip. Dean didn't know if he could handle Bobby telling him that they were just hunters that consistently needed help, not his kids.

Bobby finally put Dean out of his misery and answered in a strange tone, like he didn't understand how Dean's response connected. "No I don't have a third kid running around, ya idjit. What's gotten into you? You boys give me more than enough grey hairs, thank you very much. I think a third kid would kill me."

'_I shouldn't have gone outside,_’ Dean thought to himself as his eyes watered, ‘_it's messing with my allergies._'

"You are not my favorite," Bobby continued. "Sam is not my favorite, parents shouldn't have favorites.”

‘_Damn allergies,_’ Dean thought as his watery eyes spilled over. 

Bobby seemed to realize that this was serious, because his next words were soft and sincere.

"Dean Winchester, I love both of you boys. Equally. Neither of you boys are my favorite, _but_ you are both my favorite boys."

Dean swallowed hard and replied in a hoarse whisper, “Thanks Bobby.” 

"Don't thank me, kid," Bobby said fondly. "Just clean up your crap next time you visit.”

Dean huffed a laugh and shook his head ruefully. “Ok Bobby."

"Good," Bobby said, "'now go tell your brother you're hunting a Scryalird, and then shag ass up here and clean your crap before I decide to sell it."

"Don't you dare sell those," Dean demanded, only half jokingly, “it took me forever to build that collection!” 

"Then get up here and clean it up, ya idjit." Bobby said before hanging up the phone. 

Dean huffed a laugh, indescribably grateful for Bobby Singer. 

‘_The man is efficient,_’ Dean thought to himself as he looked at the blinking ‘call ended’ message displayed on his phone. Barely even a four minute phone call and Bobby had fixed both of his problems. 

Feeling lighter, Dean dug the key out of his pocket, letting himself back into the room. He glanced at the small mountain of books sitting on the table and felt another wave of gratitude to Bobby that they wouldn’t have to keep researching.

His spirits fell as he looked around the room and saw no Sam and a still shut bathroom door. They were creeping up on 15 minutes. Damn it. 

It was alright though, Dean reminded himself. All of this was fixable and he had a plan. 

Step one, go get some freakin food before he wasted away to nothing but a pile of skin and bones.

Step two, tell Sam it’s a Scryalird and gank the earlobe stealing freak. 

Step three, convince Sam that Dean had misunderstood what Bobby meant while they were on their way to convince Bobby not to sell his carefully gathered collection just to make a point. 

Piece of cake. Even better, this was gonna be easy as a piece of pie. After all, now that he had a plan, what could go wrong?


	2. New Plan: Call In Reinforcements

"Dean?" Bobby asked, walking into the living room with a worried frown. "Why is Sam looking at me like I killed a puppy? He's more skittish than a newborn colt in a gun range. All of a sudden I can't have a whole conversation with the kid without him,” Bobby raised his hands in mocking finger quotes, “ ‘not wanting to bother me’ and deciding he'll go do something else.”

Dean swallowed, and looked down, unable to hold Bobby’s gaze as he told him about the mess he had made. 

“I....” Dean swallowed again, pausing as he tried to find words to explain. "I messed up Bobby."

Dean didn't look up, but he could _feel_ Bobby's face softening. "I didn't mean to, I was just joking around about who was going to call you and ask for help on the Scryalird case, and I told him I should because l was the favorite."

Dean finally pulled his head up to meet Bobby's gaze, his eyes wide and desperate. "I didn't mean to, but then he wanted to know why I thought that, and I didn't want him trying to remember so he could figure it out, so I told him.”

Bobby didn’t say anything, and Dean swallowed hard, trying not to let his allergies get the best of him. 

“And I tried to tell him that wasn't true,” Dean told him, a note of desperation creeping into his tone, “I told him that wasn't true, and you don't play favorites, but he doesn't believe me!”

Dean’s eyes flicked to the staircase, knowing his brother was upstairs, hurt and upset, and Dean had no idea how to fix it. 

“He, he said,” Dean didn’t know how to explain the magnitude of the problem. What are the words he could use to explain that he had crushed his brother’s self esteem into smithereens? The same brother that was also dealing with the wall of doom in his head that could fall at any moment, because that was the reward for saving the world, apparently. 

  
  
He knew he was rambling, but he just couldn't make himself stop. “He told me, before I called you for help, he said 'I guess I can see that, can't say I blame him’ and when I tried to bring it up later, he pulled out his calm, sincere, non-jealous voice and told that it was fine, and _I_ deserved to hear someone tell me that, and that I could stop trying to make him feel better about it."

Dean shook his head, dropping his eyesto the well worn rug on the floor of Bobby’s living room. 

"He said, he told me that you were allowed to have favorites, that's your right, and that's fine, and he went 'besides, of course it was you, aren't you the one who's always telling me you're awesome?' and shut me down on it the rest of the trip. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to tell him, it just popped out. And I _know_ he isn't actually fine with it because he cried in the bathroom for almost an hour, but he won't _believe_ me -"

Bobby put his hands on Dean's shoulders, cutting off the rambling words, and Dean reluctantly looked up at him.

"Hey, Dean, it's ok son. It's not your fault, I'm the one who said it first." One hand came off Dean's shoulder to pat his cheek. "I'll go fix it, you're in charge of making dinner tonight, ok?"

‘_Damn it, I must be allergic to Bobby's house too,_’ Dean thought as he blinked hard. 

“Ok," he nodded, getting his allergies under control.

Bobby gave him a smile and one last squeeze on the shoulder, then headed towards the stairs.

  
  


/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

Sam was sitting on the small couch in the boy’s room, reading by the window. 

Sam’s head jerked up when Bobby walked in, eyes wider than when he was three and Bobby had caught him with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Oh, sorry Bobby," he apologized for absolutely no reason. Bobby barely resisted rolling his eyes. “Am I bothering you up here?"

"No, Sam, you being up here doesn't bother me, but it does bother me when one of my idjit kids starts avoiding me like the plague."

Sam went still, slight panic creeping into his expression.

Bobby let the silence hang in the air as he walked around the two queen beds and sat heavily on the opposite end of the couch. 

Sam dropped his gaze to the book in his lap, his hair falling to cover most of his face.

"Now," Bobby said, pulling one leg up on the couch and turning so he faced Sam completely, "you want to tell me what this is about?"

Sam snuck a furtive look at Bobby from under his hair and chewed his bottom lip. He opened his mouth, but then shut it again when he couldn't seem to find words.

After another few seconds of waiting, Bobby took pity on him. "This wouldn't happen to be about a stupid comment your brother made, would it?”

Sam's shoulders tensed and his breathing hitched, but he still didn't respond.

"A comment about favoritism?" Bobby asked shrewdly, watching Sam's reaction. 

Sam's gaze darted to him, surprised, and Bobby saw the hurt in his eyes before Sam looked back at the floor, a curtain of hair between him and Bobby again.

"Because," Bobby continued when it was clear Sam wasn't going to respond, "just so you know, Dean's not my favorite."

Sam gave a small shake of his head, his shoulders slumping slightly. 

“It's ok Bobby, really. You don't have to lie to me," Sam said wearily. "I know you were under a truth spell."

“Yep,” Bobby agreed, “and that was the truth then.”

Sam flinched as if he was in physical pain, but still didn't look up.

"But it's not true anymore," Bobby said, resisting the urge to grab Sam by the shoulders and turn the kid to face him.

Sam shook his head, his shoulders slumping even further. "Just because I'm pouting and whining about it, doesn't mean Dean should be less fa-" Sam's voice caught, and he cleared his throat. "I know nothing's really changed since then, so it's ok Bobby, I'm alright.”

Bobby rolled his eyes. Honestly, what the hell was wrong with his kids? Couldn’t either of them talk about their problems like like a grown up instead of either sweeping them under the rug until they spewed out the sides, or pretending anything were upset about was actually perfectly fine and no big deal? These boys were gonna kill him.

"No it ain’t ok," Bobby said, some of his exasperation slipping into his tone, "and you sure as hell ain't alright. And something has changed. You're zero for three Sam, which ain’t your usual standard. What happened to that brain of yours?" Bobby asked as he brought a hand up to lightly flick the side of Sam's head.

"You want to know what changed?" Bobby asked.

Sam peeked through his hair, puppy eyes in full force, and gave a small nod.

Bobby couldn't have stopped his fond smile even if he had wanted to. Moments like this, when Sam was all big eyes and floppy hair, made it difficult to believe the kid was in his thirties. When he pulled out the puppy eyes, it was like he was six again, looking at Bobby like he knew everything in the universe.

"The thing that changed is that we got your soul back,” Bobby said seriously, holding the kid's gaze to make sure he understood. "We got _you_ back. Robo-Sam was a dick, and a douche bag, and he was not my kid. So Dean took the favorite title because he was the only kid I had left. But then, but then we got you back, and suddenly I had my two kids again, and no favorites, just like it should be."

Sam finally, _finally_, stopped hiding behind his hair and looked up completely, his face full of hope and disbelief.

Bobby bumped his shoulder with another fond smile. 

Sam continued to stare at him, and Bobby huffed in amusement before bringing a hand up to rest on the back of Sam's neck, forcing Sam to look at him  for the rest of what he had to say.

"Sam listen to me, you and Dean? You two are my boys, and I don't have favorites, except that you two are my two favorite boys, ya hear me?"

Sam gave a watery nod.

"Good." Bobby smiled and gave Sam's neck one last squeeze before he got up. "I gotta go rescue my kitchen from that idjit brother of yours," Bobby told him, leaving Sam to his thoughts. 

As Bobby walked out the door, he worried that he hadn’t said enough, that his hatred of gooey emotional moments had kept him from saying what his boy needed to hear. 

Wracking his brain, he couldn’t think of what else he could have said, but as the minutes ticked by and Sam still hadn’t emerged from the room, he wondered if he would need to try again after dinner. 

It didn’t come to that, thankfully. Bobby knew they were going to be ok when Sam came downstairs ten minutes later asking what he could do to help, and he and Dean immediately started bickering about whether or not Sam was capable of doing even the slightest bit of cooking.

Bobby alternated between which brother he sided with and which he teased, sometimes opting to poke at both of them simultaneously. 

They laughed and bantered and bickered and eventually got the food cooked and the table set.

He smiled as he grabbed three beers from the fridge, listening to the small wrestling match going on at the table that he knew would stop the instant he turned back around.  


The fact that they thought he didn't notice was so funny that he pretended to continue digging around in the fridge for another beer even after he found the third, enjoying the entertainment they unintentionally provided.

When he felt a laugh bubbling up, he turned back to the table rather than blow his cover and almost lost it when both of their arms flew back to their sides as they blinked innocently at him. Idjit boys.

Shaking his head, Bobby chuckled as the boys found yet another topic to bicker about, this one seemed to be whether or not Chuck Norris could beat the terminator.

He handed them each their beer and sat down at the table, relishing the chance to have dinner with his two favorite kids. He loved those idjits even if they only had half a brain between them. 

Times like these were his favorites, just like these damn boys. Times like these made him think that maybe he was a lucky old man after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and thank you to everyone who commented and left kudos and bookmarks! I appreciate the feedback and I’d love to hear what you thought of chapter 2!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I’d love to hear any comments or constructive criticism you have for me!


End file.
